


You Were My Dream All Along

by welcometomystic



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, And she is the one making sure I post some good content for everyone, And that I finish this one for once, Especially Devis, Everybody thank Lauryn for helping me make sure I finish this one, Geralt is Flynn Rider, Geralt is not OOC for this as Flynn he just is done with Jaskier's shit, Geralt knows something is up with Jaskier but doesn't know why or what he is, Geralt senses A Disturbance In The Force when he hears Jaskier sing for the first time, I love Devis, I may have added a few OCs but I thought them up and wanted to include them, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Jaskier is Rapunzel, Jaskier with long blonde hair tho, Lauryn is my lovely beta reader, M/M, Mhm that's some good shit that's good shit mhm, Mild soulmate AU?, This is just a Tangled AU lol, Yennefer is Mother Gothel, omg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometomystic/pseuds/welcometomystic
Summary: Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun grew a magic golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured.This was a story that every child in The Continent had grown up with for as long as anyone could remember. Even Geralt, who was over a century old by now, could vaguely recall his mother lulling him to sleep with tales of a golden flower that flickered and glowed with a honeyed light which made one’s soul warm-up, and could heal any affliction.~*~This is the story of Jaskier the stolen Prince of Lettenhove, his kidnapper Mother Yennefer, and Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia. If people are hoping for Roach to be Maximus in this AU, you are sadly wrong. The closest to Maximus anyone is getting is Cirilla, though I won't say why yet ;D I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. The Golden Flower

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank my beta reader Lauryn for all she did helping me edit this work, and all she will continue to do in the future. I just stumbled upon a post of hers on tumblr and she was down for helping out my chaotic ass. Thanks, Lauryn!

_ Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. And from this small drop of sun grew a magic golden flower. It had the ability to heal the sick and injured. _

This was a story that every child in The Continent had grown up with for as long as anyone could remember. Even Geralt, who was over a century old by now, could vaguely recall his mother lulling him to sleep with tales of a golden flower that flickered and glowed with a honeyed light which made one’s soul warm-up, and could heal any affliction.

Of course, Geralt had not believed in such a thing once he was ushered past the gates of Kaer Morhen, and into the life of a witcher. This story does not focus around him, though, like so many often do. Instead, the tale begins with the birth of a young boy, which occurs a good 40 years after Geralt first left his second home.

~*~

When Julien was born to the Kingdom of Lettenhove on the eastern coast of The Continent, he was born to two loving parents. His mother had been ill while with child, and many had thought she would not survive his birth. Julien’s father could not bear the thought of his wife passing, so he insisted that any guards he could spare would go searching for the mythical Flower of Youth. Eventually, the whole kingdom went searching for the flower, but nobody could find it.

Nobody but the infamous Yennefer of Vengerburg.

By this time, Yennefer was an ancient and bitter mage. She had been unable to find a reversal for infertility that came with a mage’s immortality. The last potential cure had taken every last ounce of her sanity, along with her youth, though it still left her immortal and without the ability to bear a child. Unable to be both old and infertile, Yennefer hoarded the flower’s healing power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. All that was required was a song, one she had found quite easily.

However, Yennefer could not keep the flower hidden forever. One day, she was not as careful as she usually was, and her protection wards were left with a small window open in them. A passing royal guard saw through this window into the world hidden inside where he spotted a glowing flower. He instantly knew what it was, and the wards buckled and shattered as he ran through to retrieve the magical bloom.

He took it to the royal family and the magic of the golden flower healed the queen. A healthy baby, Prince Julien Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, was born with a head of beautiful golden hair.

To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a floating lantern in the sky. However, the happiness that everyone in the kingdom shared was not meant to last.

Knowing that, should the flower be consumed, the power would be absorbed by the user, Yennefer snuck into the royal nursery, in which it was customary for parents to spend their nights until the child was a year old. She attempted to steal a piece of baby Julien’s hair, but when she cut a lock free, it turned brown and curled in her hands, and she reverted back to the appearance of the withered old woman she truly was. Power-hungry and mad with the chance of eternal youth, Yennefer stole baby Julien in the night and the last memory the King and Queen had of their child was a sharp cry and a flash of black hair descending through the window of their balcony.

The kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find Prince Julien. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Yennefer raised him as if he was her own son. She renamed him Jaskier, after a less suspicious golden flower, and taught him to sing for her every night as she brushed his ever-growing blonde hair. Yennefer finally had the Flower of Youth all to herself, truly, and she was not going to let anyone take it away from her. Besides, to her own chagrin, she had grown fond of the little boy. He was not enough to melt her frozen heart, but he did keep her warm against the cold and harsh reality behind centuries of life, rejections, and the deaths of all her friends.

~*~

When Jaskier was 18 years old, about to turn 19, he patiently waited for Mother to return home from the village. He was sick of reading the same three books, sewing the same colorful doublets, and playing the same songs on his lute every day for his whole life. When Mother came home, he would finally ask her if he could go to the city and actually do something for once in his life. He wanted to see the floating lanterns in person, not just listen to Mother talk about them like they weren’t a beautiful birthday present every year… like they were a nuisance, just like him…

Jaskier heard the distinct sound of his mother unlocking and opening the door at the bottom of the tower. He danced a bit to himself before he ran to fetch his brush and the stool Mother had him perched on every afternoon for his daily hair brushing. Though Jaskier could easily brush his hair himself, despite it being long enough to trail a bit behind him as he walked, he knew it was less for practicality, and more because Mother enjoyed it. It was their “thing,” as she so often said. No matter the reason behind it, Jaskier was not going to push his luck by denying Mother her routine, and then asking her for a huge favor. That was not wise at all.

“Jaskier, my love?” Mother Yennefer called as she ascended the winding stone stairway of the tower, cursing herself for not creating a much easier entrance into Jaskier’s room. “Jaskier, would you let down your hair? Mummy’s had a long day and would love to spend a moment with you.”

Jaskier watched as Mother pushed aside the curtains which obscured the entrance and exit to his home. “Of course, Mother! I’m already here.” He shuffled a bit in his seat and offered the brush to her as she approached the armchair behind him.

“That was very thoughtful of you, dear, considering there’s hardly a thought in your head nowadays.” Mother joked, though her smile was a bit too harsh, as always. Jaskier was not so sure she was joking anymore, though she always insisted her comments were in jest.

“Of course, Mother,” Jaskier replied, as he always did, to her snide comment and waited for her to settle in for his performance. He liked to pretend he was a bard when he sang for her, despite it always being the same song with the same audience.

“Flower gleam and glow…” He started a moment after Mother began brushing his hair, letting the words linger a bit as they left his tongue. His audience always enjoyed something closer to a maudlin, though he thought it would sound better if he sang it much faster.

Once he finished, Jaskier turned to Mother and she let his silky hair slip through her fingers.

“What is it, my dear? You seem rather eager today. More so than usual, anyway.”

“Mother, I…” Jaskier paused, for once at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure how to ask for the unthinkable. “It’s my 19th birthday in two days and I was simply wondering if you would be obliged to allow me on a journey into town to see the floating lights?”

“... Jaskier, why on earth would you need to go into town to see stars? They’re right outside your window.” Mother asked, though her gaze had grown dark. Jaskier had never seen Mother look so upset. She looked almost murderous… He didn’t like being on the receiving end of that glare.

He took a deep breath before pushing on. It was too late to back out now. “No, Mother. Not the stars. I’d like to see the floating lanterns this year. In person. Maybe I could even let one loose myself! Wouldn’t that be wonderf-?”

“No.” Mother Yennefer replied, cutting Jaskier’s rant off abruptly and viciously. Her tone was beyond murderous at this point, and if looks could kill, Jaskier would be bleeding out on the floor now.

“But Moth-”

_ “NO! _ Jaskier,  **_WHY_ ** can’t you just  **_LISTEN TO ME?!_ ** YOUR MOTHER KNOWS BEST AND I WILL NEVER, EVER LET YOU LEAVE THIS TOWER.  _ DO YOU HEAR ME?!” _

Jaskier was frozen in shock as he stared at his mother, unsure how to proceed, and where, exactly, this sudden outburst had come from. Sure, he often spoke wistfully of the world outside his window, but Mother would just smile bitterly and remind him of the men with pointy teeth and the ruffians and thugs that would have their way with him at a moment’s notice. He knew there were dangers out there from which Mother wanted to protect him, but this was beyond that. Mother seemed genuinely enraged as if Jaskier had pushed some button in her that hit too close to home. He had no idea how that had happened.

Mother took a deep breath and collected herself, grasping the arm of her chair before pushing herself up and over to the mirror. She stared at her reflection for a moment then turned to look at her son again. “My son… I love you, and you know that. I am willing to forgive you for asking to leave, as I so often do, but all I have is one request…”

When his mother turned fully to face him and opened her arms, Jaskier walked into them, accepting her embrace. Her hug felt more tense than usual, though Jaskier knew Mother was not one for physical touch. “Anything…” Jaskier replied, and he meant it. Though he wanted more than anything to leave, he didn’t want to lose Mother. She was all he had.

“Never ask to leave this tower again.”


	2. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier might have just hit a beautiful stranger upside the head with a frying pan. So what?! He'd scared him, alright!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone! I did have this somewhat beta-read, but not fully. I'll make some edits a little later but I was eager to post the chapter. Perhaps a bit too eager XD; But who could blame me! I'm actually ahead of myself for once!

“Geralt, why can’t we just go into town? We haven’t been able to catch anything in the past three days, and I know you’re not eating any of the dried meats. We both need a meal.” Cirilla spoke into the calm spring air from her seat on Dandelion, her pony. She did not often complain or speak out of turn, as she was still used to keeping to herself to avoid detection, but she also knew by now when Geralt was hiding behind a mask… well, more so than usual anyway.

“We’re avoiding town, for now, Ciri. You know why.” Geralt replied, rubbing his forehead as he rode Roach just to Cirilla’s right. It was true, he was starving and his brain felt like it was three sizes too big for his skull, but they would be coming upon a river soon. He could no doubt catch some fish there for dinner tonight.

“I know, but you need food if you’re going to keep us safe,” Ciri replied and damn it all, when had she learned how to outmaneuver Geralt like that? She was too smart for her own good.

“Fine. But, if we’re heading in, I’ll need to look into that job the travelers have spoken about. People are going missing in the woods here, and I need to find out why. I presume it’s just a bruxa or two, but if that’s the case, we need to find shelter for you to wait in.”

And so, Geralt found a shallow cave with an entrance that was obscured by vines for Ciri to wait in. She wasn’t very fond of being left behind while Geralt did something exciting, but she understood that he was just trying to protect her because she couldn’t control her magic yet. They were heading to Kaer Morhen now so she could be taught how to do so.

It turns out that Geralt was right, the murders were due to a bruxa, and he stuffed her head in his satchel as proof that he had ended her reign, but as he started his return to Cirilla, a beautiful voice tickled his ear as it drifted to him on the wind. This voice was warm, soft, delicious, and everything Geralt knew was bad for him. It tempted his will like a large ale tempted a drunk. He felt drunk just listening to it, and Geralt could not keep from following the voice. He understood why the townsmen had thought the deaths were due to a “land-siren,” of which Geralt did not believe in until just then.

He saw a hidden tower after walking through a misty waterfall and knew right then that he had to climb it. Geralt had heard stories of people being locked in towers, and he wanted to be sure no one was stuck in the tower there against their will. Of course, how was he supposed to expect a frying pan to the head as soon as he made it to the top? He was too busy wondering why his medallion was going berserk.

~*~

Jaskier screeched in fear as he watched the big, burly man with white hair crumple to the ground, still gripping the wolf medallion on his chest despite his unconscious state. After he realized the man was down for the count, Jaskier slowly made his way to the motionless male to check him over. Mother Yennefer always told him to be wary of men from the world outside his tower because of their sharp teeth and brutish ways. So, Jaskier took his frying pan and lightly nudged the strange man’s head over to the side. Then, he used the lip of the pan to pull back the man’s upper lip, inspecting his teeth. Though his canines appeared to be sharper than Jaskier’s, he did not have anything resembling the fangs his mother so often spoke of. In fact, with the man asleep like this, Jaskier could not help but feel more intrigued and guilty than scared. Despite his large stature and broad shoulders, the man could not have been more than a few inches taller than himself. He had long hair, though it was shorter than Jaskier’s, and an ugly scar peeking out from under his collar. The man looked… almost serene like this, unconscious on the floor. And beautiful. He was very beautiful.

Jaskier worried his lip as he thought over what to do. If that  _ damned medallion _ would stop humming, he’d be able to think more clearly. He glared at the piece of jewelry before prying the beautiful, whitehaired man’s fingers off the offensive item and made quick work of hiding it where it could not be heard and, thus, would not be an annoyance. The metal tingled his skin where it touched him and the eyes of the wolf, which Jaskier assumed were made of some precious gem due to how they glittered in the afternoon sun, seemed to glow with a warning. Huh… that was strange.

He didn’t let this worry him, though, as the man stirred a bit, Jaskier realized he did not have much time before the man awoke.

Jaskier made quick work of tying the beautiful man to the armchair in his room, the only chair that would facilitate any form of bonds, and made sure the man would not be able to escape without Jaskier’s help.

Just as he finished up, the man’s head started to rise and his eyes opened sluggishly. Jaskier hid deep in the shadows of his room, waiting to see what the strange man would do upon waking bound as he was.

~*~

The first thing Geralt noticed was that his head was still aching from the frying pan making contact with his skull. Wow… this person really had some muscle packed on them, it seemed. Then, Geralt noticed he was bound to an armchair with no one in his immediate line of sight.

It took him a couple of rounds of rapid blinking before Geralt could focus his vision again, and he saw the outline of a figure in the darkest corner of the room. The person did not seem to know that Geralt could see him, which was strange, as most everyone knew that witchers had night vision.

“Hello?” Geralt called in his usual, monotonous tone.

“S-Struggling… is  _ pointless! _ ” A voice called out from the darkness before the figure started shuffling forward, and Geralt could start to make out more intricate features, like the fact that this person had ridiculously long, light-colored hair and still held the frying pan with which they bashed Geralt’s head in.

“I’m not struggling,” Geralt called back, attempting to show that he did not intend to harm this stranger who apparently did not know much about witchers at all.

This did not faze the figure, as it continued to move forward. Blue eyes shone out from the dark at Geralt as the figure spoke again.”I know why you’re here, and I’m not afraid of you…”

“...  _ What? _ ” Geralt hissed in confusion. His attacker was afraid of him? Why did he think Geralt was there? Was the person not really a person at all, but a monster?

Geralt stilled as he realized that his medallion was no longer humming. Or, rather, it was still humming but from a distant corner of the room. It had been stolen from him as he slept.

He did not have much time to think about this, though, as the person stepped into the light at this moment and Geralt was awestruck.

His attacker was absolutely gorgeous. The man had golden blonde hair which just managed to drag along the floor as he walked, bright cornflower blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the sunlight, and beautiful, flawless skin that looked so soft Geralt almost reached out to touch it. Well, he would have if he wasn’t tied to the chair he was sat in.

“Who are you, and how did you find me?” The man asked, raising his cast-iron frying pan menacingly, but Geralt could hear his elevated heartbeat. If he wasn’t a witcher, Geralt would have been fooled into thinking the man was not afraid in the slightest.

“I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you,” Geralt grunted in response, already regretting speaking so long as it made his head throb even harder than it had been previously. “But I’m a witcher. I won’t hurt you.”

“...And what’s that? A witcher?” The man asked, tilting his head a bit to the side like a confused puppy. It seems Geralt was right in assuming this man was trapped in the tower.

“Witchers protect people from monsters for coin,” Geralt clarified.

The man’s eyes widened slightly in shock, as if he had never even known there were monster hunters on The Continent. Geralt felt some pity for the man, now. The blonde quickly recovered, though, and furrowed his brows in concentration.

“Who else knows my location, Witcher? More of your kind?” He asked with a sneer as he held the pan just a couple of inches from Geralt’s nose.

“Blondie-” Geralt responded, knowing that although the nickname may not be the most sensitive one, it was all he had to identify the man with. That and his ridiculously colorful doublet and pants, but Geralt decided against bringing that up.

“It’s Jaskier,” Blondie replied. Well, Jaskier it seemed. What an interesting name,  _ Buttercup _ .

“Alright, then. Jaskier,” He continued. “If you would be so kind as to untie me and hand me back my medallion, I have someone waiting for me back at camp. They need me there.”

Somehow Jaskier’s brow furrowed deeper, and Geralt wondered what he had said or done wrong. He had never been too great with words, and Jaskier was already on edge.

“Why do you need the medallion?” Geralt could see now that he had not spoken incorrectly, but had instead just piqued the man’s curiosity.

Geralt wondered whether or not he should divulge this information. It was clear that, for some reason or another, Jaskier had activated the detector in the medallion. Perhaps it would be best to keep this from him, then, and until Geralt knew whether or not he could trust that Jaskier wasn’t really a werewolf or some other beast in disguise… though he doubted it.

“It’s very important to me and my trade. Others identify me by it.”

“Huh… well, I’ve hidden it,” Jaskier started and Geralt knew where this was going. “Someplace you’ll never find it.”

“And I suppose you want some reward for giving it back to me?” Geralt asked, raising a brow as though he was unsurprised. And he was.

“Yes, I do. Though, it’s simple,” Jaskier started to circle Geralt and the witcher certainly wasn’t complaining. He had a much better view of Jaskier this way, and though Geralt told himself it was so he could see if the man had any other weapons on him, he doubted Jaskier had any knives in the back end of his trousers. “You give me safe passage into town so that I can see the floating lights--the lanterns--and take me back home. Then, and only then, will I give you back your medallion.”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed to himself for a moment as he thought, making eye contact with Jaskier. He seemed truthful in claiming that this was all he wanted, but Geralt still felt wary about allowing him near Ciri. He was a stranger, and though Jaskier did not know much about the world outside his tower, he also seemed naive enough to accidentally allow Cirilla to be captured by any one of their enemies. Geralt could not allow that to happen.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, but I can’t. I cannot take on any more traveling partners at the moment.”

Jaskier’s sneer was back and Geralt could tell he was losing his patience. “Something brought you here, Witcher. Call it what you will: fate, destiny…” Geralt sighed in annoyance. Gods, did he hate the word  _ ‘destiny’ _ .

“A child,” Geralt grumbled to himself, but Jaskier just continued.

“But believe me when I tell you this,” Jaskier then pulled on a small piece of fabric left from Geralt’s bonds and, against Geralt’s expectations, he went flying forward until his other hand caught the edge of the chair and caused Geralt to stop just centimeters from Jaskier’s face. The blonde man was apparently much stronger than he looked. “You can tear this tower apart brick by brick, but without my help, you will never find your precious medallion.”

If Geralt were any other man, he would have shivered at Jaskier’s strength and tone of voice as he said those words. He was practically growling as he spoke, eyes hard and fiery with determination and brutal honesty. Jaskier may be naive, but he wasn’t dumb, nor was he without passion. Quite the opposite, in fact.

After a long pause, Geralt growled to himself and looked away from Jaskier’s gaze.  _ Damn him and damn Ciri for making Geralt soft.  _ “Fine… I’ll take you to see the lost prince’s lanterns.”

Jaskier changed in a moment, letting Geralt fall onto the back legs of his chair as he let out a happy little squeak. His eyes were crinkling at the sides as he smiled, and Jaskier was practically glowing like a lantern himself. This may be a nuisance for Geralt, but he did feel a slight sense of accomplishment from giving Jaskier this simple, easy joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! I have the next couple written out already and plans for a lot more, so don't worry, I don't plan on letting anyone down <3 We're all in this together, my dudes!


	3. The Leshy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, Jaskier is a bit naive... well, he _has_ been living in a tower all his life! Could you blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, especially the extra-long one that comes after it, which I'm still in the process of writing. For that reason, I decided I'd post this one a bit early. Hope you enjoy!

After a bit of debate on how to descend from the tower, Jaskier rode piggyback on Geralt as the witcher climbed down the face of the keep. Apparently the witcher thought there were several spells that could inflict harm in the stairwell, so Jaskier trusted his word. He would not put it past Mother Yennefer to hex anyone attempting to break into, or out of, the tower.

Once they hit the ground, Jaskier hopped off Geralt’s back and wiggled his bare toes in the grass with a wide, toothy smile on his face. He quickly turned his gaze to Geralt’s and found the man softly grinning back at him like he was watching a toddler play with his favorite blocks. If Mother did this, Jaskier would have been furious, but it felt different coming from the witcher. It made him feel a bit warm inside, like how the sun was currently warming Jaskier’s skin.

“Take me to your camp, then, Sir Witcher,” Jaskier stated before sticking his chin up and walking off in the same general direction Mother did when she left the tower for food and water.

Geralt shook his head in disbelief as he followed Jaskier’s lead. This would sure be interesting.

~*~

“Cirilla?” Geralt called before lifting the vines back from the entrance to the shallow cave in which he’d left his… well, his daughter, he decided. Yes. She was his daughter now.

“And where have you been?!” She called back angrily, practically spitting as she threw herself up from her seat near a long-extinguished fire, and stomped her way over to her father figure. “Do you know how long it’s been?!”

“I don’t,” Geralt stated before stopping Cirilla with his gaze. Though she was upset, she knew when to listen. “But I do know that we have a new traveling partner.” Geralt moved the vines a bit further to show Cirilla the blonde man wearing a bright, robin’s egg blue doublet outfit, and a sheepish smile on his face as he scratched the back of his neck. “His name is Jaskier and he will only be traveling with us into the heart of Lettenhove. He has business there, and then we will return him home.”

Ciri narrowed her eyes at the new man and looked him over. He seemed harmless, like he would not hurt a fly, but she also saw the muscle and height hidden underneath his high-waisted trousers and his doublet. Still, though… if Geralt could trust him, and he was always so overprotective of her, she supposed she could trust him too.

“So he’s the reason why you’re so late?” She asked, and she and Geralt both knew she was doing this to mess with the new guy.

“Yes, ma’am, and I am very sorry for that,” Jaskier apologized, kneeling to her level and taking her hand in his to kiss like one would royalty. She supposed she still was, but Jaskier would not know that. “I thought he was trying to kidnap me for my hair. I was wrong.”

“Your hair?” Ciri asked, but Jaskier did not elaborate. He was a strange man, that was sure, but Ciri did like his hair and his overall demeanor. And Geralt liked him, so she did too.

“Come,” Geralt grumbled as he led Roach over to the two, his pack attached to her, all ready to go. “Let’s get going.”

Ciri smiled and walked over to Geralt, her arms out so he could lift her onto Roach and then climb on after her. Jaskier seemed confused until he realized that he was expected to walk. He wilted a little. “Oh, come on!”

Geralt and Ciri looked at each other and laughed a little to themselves before Roach started on the road, Jaskier having to scramble to keep up.

~*~

Jaskier quickly tired on the road as he traveled beside Geralt and Cirilla. Of course, he would not complain… too much. Geralt was helping him, and he was grateful. He just wished they could take a break and drink some water. This was the longest and farthest he had ever walked in his life and he was the only one on his feet, after all!

After sighing to himself, he looked to the side and did a double-take. Was that… an old woman? Wobbling her way just off the path?

“H-Hello?” Jaskier called out, causing Geralt to turn and look at him, then the old woman. “Hello, madam? Do you need some assistance?”

The old woman looked up at Jaskier shakily, then raised one hand and beckoned him over. It seemed that she was so old and frail that she was unable to speak loudly enough to ask Jaskier for help from the distance he held from her now.

So, he started approaching her.

“Jaskier, I wouldn’t-  _ Jaskier-! _ ” Geralt called after him, quickly sliding off Roach to follow, one hand on his silver sword. He should never have agreed to help Jaskier if he was going to run off like this at a moment’s notice.

Despite Geralt’s protests, Jaskier held his hand out for the woman to grasp, so he could lead her onto more steady ground. Perhaps that would help her some. Honestly, why was Geralt being so jittery? It’s just an old woman, for gods’ sakes!

The woman took his hand, but then she grinned, and Jaskier realized his mistake. Her teeth were not really teeth at all, but rather fangs. Long, sharp fangs with blood staining their points a deep color. Jaskier’s eyes went wide as she morphed from an old woman into a creature that looked like some combination of a wildcat and a bear, and he quickly backed away.

“W-Witcher, help!” He called before Geralt smacked Roach on the ass and sent her racing off with Ciri, keeping her safe from harm while knowing he’d be able to find Roach later. He always did.

The beast lunged toward Jaskier, raising its front claws in a manner that indicated it was about to slice him to ribbons, but Geralt stopped it by grabbing one of its legs, pulling it back from Jaskier. The monster howled in frustration and quickly focused its efforts on defeating Geralt. It knew Jaskier was the weaker one, so it needed to take the witcher down first.

Geralt slashed his sword toward the beast, but it jumped backward just in time, then attempted to bite Geralt’s arm. He rolled out of the way while managing to slice the monster’s back, but the cut was not deep enough to cause more than a small amount of pain and irritation. It was no doubt very hungry, and Jaskier would have been an easy meal if Geralt was not there to help him.

The beast ran up a tree and seemingly disappeared, the forest going silent save for the sound of the wind rustling the leaves overhead. After a moment or two, Jaskier let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Well, it looks like we’re in the clear… surprisingly,” Jaskier announced, trying to break the silence and lighten the mood, but Geralt only looked at him with a glare that told him to  _ shut up, he was  _ **_concentrating._ **

And that’s when it all went wrong.

Within that short moment of weakness, a branch fell from a tree directly above Geralt, morphing into the wildcat-bear creature once again before tackling Geralt to the ground.

The witcher cried out in pain before his cry turned into a growl of anger as he began to roll and wrestle with the beast. After a long fight between the two, Geralt eventually rose victorious, but his left knee buckled and he fell to the ground. Jaskier quickly rushed over to aid Geralt and helped him over onto his back so he was able to get a better look at Geralt’s wounds. Most of them were alright, a couple needed stitches, but one on his left thigh was bleeding profusely and worried Jaskier greatly.

Then there was the sound of Roach trotting her way over with Cirilla. The girl had certainly heard Geralt’s cry of pain and decided to turn back for fear of leaving her father behind with a man she hardly knew.

“C-Cirilla!” Jaskier called out, and she was there at his side in an instant. “I need you to help me lift the witcher’s leg up onto this log here,” he explained, pointing to a log just to his right, meaning they would have to work together to reposition him.

“Geralt.”

“Huh?” Jaskier asked the whitehaired witcher while moving him over to the log.

“My name is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt replied, hissing through his teeth as the movements Jaskier and Ciri made jostled his deep leg wound.

Despite the tense moment, Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. Geralt must really have trusted him, then. Jaskier could do this, he could reveal himself to this man and his daughter. They wouldn’t hurt him.

The smile slipped off his face as he focused on Geralt’s wound and then gazed deep into Geralt’s golden eyes, his slitted pupils dilated wide, probably from the pain and blood loss. “Geralt, promise me you won’t... freak out.”

“... Alright?” Geralt replied, and Ciri eyed Jaskier wearily before the man sighed in defeat and gathered up his hair, pressing the wad of it into Geralt’s wound. Geralt hissed but didn’t question him further.

Jaskier then began to sing.

“ _ Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, _ ” Jaskier’s hair started to glow, slowly making its way down from his scalp to the locks and strands, some faster than others. Geralt’s eyes widened slightly and Cirilla gasped.

“ _ Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine, _ ” The golden glow now reached the wad pressed to Geralt’s wound and the witcher could feel the pain slip away, replaced with an odd warmth and tingling sensation.

“ _ Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine, _ ” Geralt could no longer feel the pain in his thigh, and he was starting to get the odd sensation of energy being restored to him… as if what had been used up by the adrenaline and the fight with the leshy was being given back from some other source… from Jaskier.

“ _ What once was mine, _ ” Jaskier finished slowly, drawing the words out a bit as his hair began to fade back to its normal blonde hue. He was looking incredibly pale and worn down like he had just run for miles and miles with only two hours’ rest the night before. But, he still had enough energy to smirk slightly and lift his hair from Geralt’s thigh, showing the now healed wound, and the small scar which was left behind.

“... How did you…?” Geralt began, pulling himself into a sitting position, but then Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over into Geralt’s shoulder. So, Geralt figured this was not the time, despite the fact that he was incredibly eager to know just what the hell gave this man that kind of power. There were no creatures Geralt knew of that could do that. But, Jaskier clearly had hardly enough energy to stay awake for now after he very well saved Geralt’s life.

Cirilla just stared in awe as Geralt pushed himself into a squat then gathered Jaskier into his arms, bridal style, turning towards her. The witcher rolled his eyes and smiled softly at his daughter before gaining her attention. “Could you pull out my bedroll? I think Jaskier has earned himself a nap.”

Ciri quickly complied with a short nod, already thinking of all the ways she could braid Jaskier’s hair while he slept. That way, he could wake to a beautiful braid full of wildflowers… and couldn’t tell her not to do so. (Not that Jaskier ever would, but she didn’t know that yet.)


	4. The Cuddly Cub (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no way to summarize this... there's so much... just read it lol

When Jaskier awoke, it was to the sound of a wooden spoon clanging softly against the bottom of a pot. He could smell the makings of a stew, probably of some small creature, seeing as they were in the forest. But it still smelled delightful, though, and his stomach rumbled at the thought of finally consuming something. How long had he been asleep?

It seemed he needn’t ask the question, though, as the moment he opened his eyes, Cirilla seemed to notice and quickly made her way to his side.

“Jaskier!” She lightly called, careful not to be too loud, as Geralt had warned her that Jaskier may wake with an aching head. “Jaskier, how are you feeling? Would you like some rabbit stew? It will be done cooking soon.”

Geralt grunted his agreement from beside the campfire as he stirred the contents of the pot once again, eyeing Jaskier out of the corner of his eye.

Jaskier smiled and stretched his arms over his head before sitting up. “I’m feeling much better now, Miss Cirilla. I thank you for asking! And I would certainly love a bowl of stew once it is ready.”

Then, Jaskier noticed a change in weight coming from his head. His hair was different. Jaskier reached a hand up to lightly run along his scalp and the length of his golden locks before he realized that it had been intricately woven with small braids, large braids, fishtail braids, french braids. You name a braid, it was there, and with seemingly endless wildflowers to boot, along with what Jaskier could assume was an equally intricate flower crown perched atop his head.

“Why, Ciri, did you braid my hair?” He asked, and Ciri bit her lip and looked to Geralt before turning back to Jaskier and nodding. Jaskier smiled back at her brightly before leaning forward and speaking in the most sincere tone he believed he had ever mustered. “Well, then I’m sure I’ll love it. I could never really braid my hair, and Mother always found it tedious work. It’s a treat for you to have done this for me. Thank you.”

Ciri beamed at him with all the energy and light of an exploding star and Jaskier knew in that moment that he had, for once, said and done the right thing without any negative consequences. And it felt good to make Ciri so happy. He had a feeling she wasn’t happy very often, especially from the look Geralt was giving him that was full of thanks and… fondness? Of course, Geralt would be fond of Ciri, she was his daughter after all.

Jaskier was taken aback, though, when she slammed into him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

And Jaskier hugged her back, a warmth blooming in his chest that he hoped would never leave him.

~*~

“So, Jaskier…” Geralt started while handing him a bowl of the now finished rabbit stew. Jaskier smiled up at him from his seat on Geralt’s bedroll nodding in encouragement, having a feeling that he knew what Geralt was going to ask him. “How did you heal me like that?”

“Yeah, Jaskier,” Ciri added from her seat to his left, swallowing her spoonful of stew before continuing. “How long has your hair been doing that?”

Jaskier chuckled nervously to himself. He had never had to explain his hair before since he had never really had friends to explain himself to, so he didn’t even know where to begin. He supposed he could start with Ciri’s question. “Forever, I guess?”

Geralt’s right brow rose, and Jaskier knew he was still trying to figure out what gave him this power. Jaskier sighed. “Mother says that, before I was born, my birth mother was very sick. So, she needed this magic flower. And when I came into the world, my hair had the same abilities as the flower, and when people learned this, they tried to cut it. They wanted to keep its eternal youth and healing all to themselves.” Jaskier pulled his braid to the side so the little brown curl that he’d had for as long as he could remember would be seen. “But, once it’s cut, it turns brown and loses its power.”

Ciri looked to Geralt to watch his face, hoping not to see any hints of Jaskier being dangerous. She liked him, and knew that Geralt liked him too, probably in the way her grandmother liked Eist. She hoped so, anyway; she wanted Jaskier to stay and for Geralt to be happy. It seemed that she was right, though, in assuming that Jaskier was harmless, as Geralt’s eyes only showed intrigue and mild disbelief like he knew Jaskier was telling the truth but still did not believe him.

“Mother always said ‘a gift like that must be protected,’ and that’s why…” Jaskier sighed again, letting his braid fall back and crossing an arm across his chest to grip at its twin.

“That’s why you never left that tower,” Geralt finished for him. Jaskier nodded, and Geralt sighed through his nose. He’d had his suspicions since Jaskier had saved him, but it seemed his guesses were correct. Geralt didn’t want to make such a strong assumption out loud just yet, but he had the sneaking impression that Jaskier might not be just a poor, magical soul trapped in a tower. Instead, he could be far more. There was the legend, after all, of the lost Prince of Lettenhove…

“And you still want to go back?” Ciri asked, taking Jaskier’s hand in hers, having set her bowl to the side while Jaskier spoke.

“No… Yes?” Jaskier sighed in frustration, laying his free hand across his forehead as he thought. “It’s complicated…”

After a moment’s pause, Geralt decided to ask one question that was really burning a hole in his tongue. “Why do you really want to see the floating lanterns, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and Ciri’s gaze met his. Her eyes widened as she seemingly made the connection as well, but Geralt shook his head minutely and she pressed her lips together to show she didn’t intend to say anything. At least, not yet.

Jaskier’s brows furrowed and his lips pouted out a bit as he wondered how the subject had changed so quickly to something so different, though still valid. “Well, every year these lanterns rise into the sky on my birthday, and  _ only _ on my birthday,” Ciri let out a soft gasp and Geralt shot her a look telling her to keep quiet. She smiled sheepishly. “So, I’ve always wanted to see them in person. I’ve felt a certain pull to them… but Mother always said ‘no, I can’t, it’s too dangerous.’”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed to himself as he took a sip from his bowl of stew, having been left without a spoon now that Jaskier was here and Jaskier jolted a bit in surprise. He realized he’d left his completely forgotten in his lap. His stomach growled in protest at his absent mind and he softly removed his hand from Ciri’s, and went to quickly shovel a couple of big spoonfuls into his mouth. He smiled slightly in contentment; it tasted  _ wonderful _ . Ciri smiled back at him and then finished her own bowl of stew, moving to collect Jaskier’s a couple minutes later when he had finished his.

“Thank you,” Jaskier called to her as she retreated to a nearby creek to wash the utensils, and she smiled back at him. When Jaskier turned to Geralt, he jumped, having been surprised by the intense scrutiny he was under from the witcher. “Um… thank you for the stew, Geralt, and for the bedroll.”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed once again, looking Jaskier over once more before pushing himself up to a standing position. “It’s time to get going. The sun will be setting soon, and we have to make it to the inn.”

“What inn?” Jaskier asked, rising onto slightly unsteady feet, but he was not graced with a response. He ‘humph’ed from his nose, realizing he’d somehow put Geralt in a bad mood, and decided to leave it be. If Geralt was going to be grumpy and rude for no reason at all, Jaskier could do the same back at him.

Not long after this, the three of them hit the road. Geralt said they had a couple of hours left to walk before they would settle at an inn for the night. Though he had claimed they should remain unseen, Geralt also said that he knew and trusted everyone at the inn. Jaskier couldn’t wait to meet some of the man’s friends. If they were half as interesting as Geralt, he’d be in for a real treat.

~*~

“The… Cuddly Cub?” Jaskier read the sign as he and the others were quickly approaching. “What sort of name is that?”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier with disdain. Of course the man would think it was an odd name for a pub, because it was, but it was also an insult without him knowing it.

“It’s the name of a witchers’ pub. Only witchers drink and dine here, at least during this time of year. We will do the same, then stay at the inn upstairs for the night.” Geralt grumbled and turned back to the road.

Jaskier’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as he realized the extent his words had. Oops.

Ciri giggled under her breath and Jaskier shot her a look. She giggled a little louder. And Jaskier stuck his tongue out at her, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest in an exaggerated motion. He continued onward, speeding up his gait so he walked slightly faster than before to show his frustration.

Once the group came to the front of the pub, Geralt set Roach up in the stables and fed her a couple sugar cubes as a treat before leading Ciri and Jaskier into the building.

“ **_GERALT!_ ** ” A couple of men in the front of the pub shouted in glee almost as soon as the group entered, and Jaskier knew he was in for a fun night. These men were most certainly witchers as well, seeing as they had similar scars and armor to Geralt, and Geralt himself relaxed his shoulders in their presence.

Geralt strode forward, Ciri and Jaskier following close behind, and stopped just a foot or two from their table. “Lambert, Eskel,” Geralt greeted the two men before motioning for Ciri and Jaskier to step forward. “This is Cirilla, my Child Surprise.” The one with a beard, Lambert, ‘Ooo’ed in response. “And this is Jaskier, a… friend.” The other, Eskel, smirked and looked to Lambert as if he doubted that remark.

Despite his doubts, Eskel stood from his seat and offered a hand to Jaskier in a friendly greeting. “It’s nice to meet you Jaskier,” Then he turned to Ciri and bowed slightly to her. “And you, Cirilla. My name is Eskel. I studied at Kaer Morhen with Geralt. I suppose you could call us brothers.”

Eskel then looked to Lambert, who was still seated, and the man rolled his eyes. “I’m Lambert, also a brother to Geralt.” And then he raised his pint of ale as a toast to their appearance and took several gulps of the liquid.

Just then, the innkeeper looked up from his place behind the bar, wiping down glasses, and smiled at Geralt. The man, who was a bit smaller and slimmer than Jaskier, with bright red hair and vibrantly green eyes, placed the glass and towel he was holding on the counter before jogging over to their side. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious in his presence, knowing that the man was very handsome and seemed to be a bit taken with Geralt, if the smile and slight blush on his cheeks was anything to go by. After all, Mother had told him he was getting a bit chubby just a day before he left with Geralt and Ciri, and he was currently standing in a tavern with dirt-covered trousers and no shoes in sight.

“Geralt! It’s great to see you!” The innkeeper called out before nudging the witcher with his elbow in a casual greeting. “I suppose you’re here on your way to Kaer Morhen for the winter, aren’t you?” Then, the man looked over to Ciri, and then to Jaskier, offering them both a kind smile. “And who have you brought with you?”

Geralt nudged the man back, gaining the redhead’s attention once again before he spoke. “This is Ciri, my daughter,” The man nodded before turning to Ciri and saying he was pleased to make her acquaintance. Then Geralt continued, gesturing to Jaskier, who smiled a bit shyly and offered his hand to shake. “And this is Jaskier, a new friend.”

Jaskier heard Eskel stifle a laugh and inwardly cringed a bit further into himself, though he hoped it wasn’t too obvious. Why was Geralt’s brother laughing at their friendship? Was he really that strange compared to other folks? Was that such a bad thing?

Regardless, the redhead took Jaskier’s hand in a firm grip and shook it politely. “I’m pleased to meet you, Jaskier. My name is Devis, and I am the keeper of this inn. I hope you won’t mind that it’s a bit less crowded than usual, but I have the inn reserved for witchers and their companions at this time. I like to offer them some help on their way home for the winter, seeing as most folks are loath to do the same.”

And, just like that, Jaskier felt even more inadequate in the presence of this kind man. He was still grateful, though, that someone was willing to help Geralt and his brothers. He was confused, though. “Why are others loath to do the same, exactly?” He asked, and behind him, Geralt smiled sheepishly at his brothers and Devis.

The innkeeper looked at Jaskier as if he did not understand how this was uncommon knowledge, and Jaskier bit his lip as a response. Before he was forced to explain himself, however, Geralt stepped in, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jaskier felt the warmth of Geralt’s palm radiating through him from his shoulder to the tips of his toes, and he instantly felt a bit better about himself and his position in the conversation.

“Jaskier lives with his mother a bit isolated from the rest of the townsfolk. He doesn’t know much about witchers, it seems.” Geralt explained, thankfully leaving out Jaskier’s magic hair and the tower.

“Ah, I see,” Devis replied with a friendly chuckle. “Well, most people don’t like witchers. I didn’t, myself until Geralt here saved my life from a kikimora. Ever since then, I’ve felt that I owed it to him and other witchers to help them in some way. So, I opened up my tavern and inn to them, and they have started to come in droves. Everyone here is a witcher, save you, me, and Cirilla here.”

Jaskier whistled lowly as he looked around the tavern, counting the many heads as they ate and drank and laughed together. “I’m glad you’re willing to help! It seems wildly unfair that people would hate those that save them from monsters… Thank you,” Jaskier replied, and Geralt patted him on the shoulder, where Jaskier hadn’t realized the man’s hand was still resting.

“Hear, hear!” Eskel shouted in response, lifting his pint toward Devis. “Three cheers for Devis and his kind hospitality!”

And the pub erupted in whoops and hollers, and the band played a loud and happy tune, making Jaskier smile happily to himself before turning to Ciri. The girl shot him back a smile of her own and she took Jaskier’s hand in hers before squeezing it to show she agreed with him. He hadn’t noticed that someone was trying to gain his attention before he received a nudge in the side from someone’s elbow. Jaskier turned and saw Lambert chuckle with raised brows.

Jaskier blushed a bit, realizing that he’d been caught not paying attention and instead was messing around with Ciri.

“What I asked was, ‘would you like something to drink,’” Lambert clarified for Jaskier, and the blonde-haired man nodded back with a small “thank you” in response. Lambert then shot a smug look to someone just above Jaskier’s shoulder. He could hear Geralt call out for them to wait a moment before Lambert slipped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and gently ushered him over to the bar to meet with Devis, who had apparently gone back to work while Jaskier wasn’t looking.

“So,” Lambert began, raising his voice a bit so he could be heard over the crowd. “You like him, then. Don’t you.”

Jaskier choked on the breath he was just beginning to suck in, and Lambert smirked at him. He shot a scowl back at the witcher before huffing slightly. “And what makes you say that?”

Lambert shrugged, moving his hand from Jaskier’s waist to grip both sides of his belt. “Don’t know, just a hunch.” Jaskier’s nose scrunched up at this and Lambert chuckled again. “Why don’t we introduce you to Vesemir while you think up something to order. Geralt would probably kill me if I didn’t get you something to eat as well.” Lambert grumbled at the end as if he had experience with such a scenario, and Jaskier was instantly curious.

“Who’s Vesemir?” He asked, and Lambert just pointed at an older man sitting at the bar next to a bald man with tattoos on his scalp and a thick beard.

“He’s sitting next to Co ën, there.  Co ën is with the School of the Griffin. Geralt, Eskel, Vesemir, and myself are from the School of the Wolf.”

Jaskier suddenly understood why Geralt had a wolf medallion, and how people identified him by it. “So, the medallion tells others which school you’re from?” He asked for clarification and Lambert’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he went back to looking unimpressed and nodded once again before walking over to Vesemir.

The old man turned to face the two of them and he grinned up at Lambert. “My son,” Vesemir began. “Have you managed to stay out of trouble thus far?”

Lambert huffed out a laugh before resting a hand on Jaskier’s bicep. “I have, but you might want to keep an eye on Geralt. Looks like he’s got himself a new ‘friend.’”

Vesemir turned to Jaskier then and gave him a slow, respectful nod. “And your name is?”

“Oh, I’m Jaskier. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vesemir, sir.” He offered, holding his hand out for Vesemir to shake. The old man chuckled but took his hand and shook it.

“There’s no need for all the titles. Just call me Vesemir,” The older witcher clarified before continuing. “And how do you know Geralt? He was behaving well, I hope?”

Jaskier had the feeling that Vesemir was like a father to Geralt, and he was already chomping at the bit to ask questions about Geralt’s childhood. “He certainly was,” Jaskier assured Vesemir. “I don’t think I’ve had better hospitality in my life.” And it was true. No one had ever given him their bedroll and cooked him a delicious stew after he’d saved their life before… though, he’d also never been in a situation where such could happen, either.

Lambert let out a deep, full-bellied laugh at Jaskier’s remark, and Vesemir chuckled to himself as well. It seemed Geralt was not often as kind to others as he was to Jaskier.

“I doubt that, but I’ll accept your praise. Geralt certainly wiggles his way into your heart, eventually,” Vesemir stated once he’d finished laughing.

“He certainly does,” Jaskier agreed softly to himself, earning him a look from Lambert.

“Would you like an ale while you talk to Vesemir? I’m sure you’re thirsty after walking for so long,” Lambert asked, and Jaskier nodded.

“Well, I’m not sure,” He corrected. “I’ve never had ale before, so I don’t know if I’d like it, and I don’t want you wasting your money on me.” Jaskier would hate to be a nuisance, but he didn’t say that.

This seemed to pique Lambert’s interest, seeing as his eyes widened slightly and a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Oh, really? Well, why don’t I get you two? I doubt you would dislike it once you’d tried it.”

Vesemir shot Lambert a look which indicated he was slightly disappointed in Lambert’s behavior, but would allow it; Jaskier was unsure why this was the case. Lambert was being very kind, offering to get Jaskier two drinks on his own dime. Of course, Jaskier had not known the effects of alcohol at this time, having never consumed it previously.

Once Lambert left, Jaskier turned to Vesemir once again. “So, Vesemir… Care to share any interesting stories from Geralt’s childhood? I’m all ears.”

Vesemir laughed. “I’m sure you are, Jaskier.” After a moment, Vesemir shook his head and chuckled a second time before nodding once. “Very well, I will share some tales with you, but I believe Geralt and Eskel should be present, at the very least.”

Jaskier quickly nodded before scrambling from his seat at the bar to find Geralt and his brother. The more embarrassing the better, because embarrassing stories are the funniest, and Geralt would no doubt be mortified.

~*~

When Jaskier came back with one grumpy witcher and another that could not keep from laughing--Geralt and Eskel, respectively--Lambert was already waiting beside Vesemir with two ales. One was waiting at the bar, and the other in his hand as he held it out to Jaskier.

“Why, thank you!” Jaskier called to him before grabbing the ale from his grasp. He enthusiastically took a swig and then grimaced a bit, causing Lambert to laugh.

“What, not to your tastes?” Lambert asks, looking to Geralt, who shook his head in disbelief.

“Have you ever had ale before, Jaskier?” Geralt asked him, resting a hand on the small of his back as the blonde choked down the liquid.

Jaskier shook his head and coughed a little. “No, but I never thought it would taste so strong! I’m fine, it just surprised me.” Then he took another swig and motioned for Vesemir to begin speaking.

“Well, I suppose I could start with the Keep Races?” Vesemir began and all of his sons groaned. Jaskier grinned evilly. “It was Lambert’s idea, at first. He challenged Geralt and Eskel to a race up the walls of the keep at Kaer Morhen. The boys, of course, were young and bold. They immediately accepted, and took turns trying to kick each other off the wall.”

Jaskier, now several gulps into his ale and already feeling its effects, chuckled loudly before speaking. “Who won? Who was the fastest?”

“Eskel, though I would hardly call it winning,” Vesemir replied. “He mysteriously fell and broke his leg after Lambert made it to the top himself.”

Geralt rumbled out a laugh from his chest at the memory, realizing that perhaps these ‘embarrassing’ stories may not be so bad. However, he was wrong… so very wrong.

“But what about Geralt, hm?” Jaskier asked, resting his now empty pint on the bar and picking up the other. Geralt had to keep himself from kicking Jaskier in the calf to stop his inquiries, as he knew it was already too late. Lambert had that mischievous glint in his eye, and there was no turning back now.

“Well, we could always remind Geralt of his early attempts at romance with the farmer’s boy?” Lambert offered and Geralt punched him in the arm while Jaskier giggled and nodded excitedly. “Once upon a time in Kaer Morhen, Geralt was a mere boy of thirteen and he caught sight of this brown-haired beauty that was the farmer’s boy. The farmer who provided the school with the produce needed to feed all of us hungry almost-witchers. After a couple of weeks befriending the boy, he decided it was time to make a move, and so he presented the boy with a rose, and asked if he would like to have a spring picnic with him… Geralt ended up with a broken nose  _ and _ heart that afternoon.”

By the time Lambert had finished, Jaskier was halfway done with his second pint and Geralt was so red in the face he could have been a rose himself. Eskel cackled heartily at the memory and Jaskier, despite the embarrassment Geralt had experienced, did not find the story very funny at all. That stupid farmer’s boy had hurt his witcher! That’s  _ very _ rude!

Jaskier said as much, and if Geralt could turn any redder, he would. The men laughed at  _ him _ now, and Jaskier continued to pout for a new reason. That is until he saw a gorgeous, intricate lute left unattended on the stage near the back of the tavern. His eyes widened before he chugged the last of his ale and handed the empty pint glass off to Lambert, earning a few pleasantly surprised looks from Geralt and his brothers. Had Jaskier just downed two pints of ale in ten minutes then went on stage to perform with both eloquent speech and somewhat fluid movements? Yes, yes he had. Jaskier did not know how impressive that was at the time, but he would have bragged about it in later years.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Eskel mumbled to himself before grabbing Geralt by his arm and quite literally tugging him to the front of the room, Cirilla following close behind them.

After a moment of fiddling with the strap on the lute and tuning the instrument, Jaskier whispered to the band, then stepped to the front of the stage as the rest of the performers put down their instruments.

“If I could have your attention, please,” Jaskier called with only a slight slur to his speech, and most of the witchers turned to face him. “Thank you. Now, I am not a master of music quite yet, but I do enjoy singing and playing the lute. If you all would be fine with hearing what I have to play for a few moments, I would be very grateful.”

Lambert, Eskel, and Ciri whooped and hollered at this, and Jaskier waved down at them, then at Geralt. After this, he began to play a tune that Geralt could only assume was called “The Fishmonger’s Daughter,” as the phrase was so often repeated in it.

Lambert decided to take this time to speak with Geralt privately… or, rather, somewhat privately. Ciri was still there, but she was dancing along to Jaskier’s music at the moment.

“So… that’s a lot of hair,” Lambert commented, pointing to Jaskier’s bulky braid.

Geralt ‘hmm’ed back to him before replying. “He can’t cut it, he’ll lose its magic.”

“I never found you to be the romantic type, especially about hair,” Lambert joked, assuming Geralt was being facetious, but when Geralt just gave him a disapproving look. “Wait. You’re serious? What is he?”

Geralt sighed in defeat. “Unattainable.”

“How so?” Eskel interrupted, bumping shoulders with Geralt as he stood on the man’s other side.

“He has magic hair that glows when he sings,” Geralt explained, turning to look Eskel in the eye. “And it has the magic power to heal the sick and injured… and grant eternal youth.”

Eskel’s eyes widened to the size of saucers at that. “No!” Then, he turned to watch Jaskier dance around in his bare feet and dirty trousers, having the drunkest but most fun time of his life. “He’s the lost prince? Julien de Lettenhove?”

Geralt raised his arm to take a sip of his own ale before speaking. “The very same, but he doesn’t know it.” After he took his sip and swallowed it, he continued. “It seems his ‘Mother’ never told him, and he just wants to go see the floating lanterns that appear on his birthday every year.”

“Wow,” Lambert said with a low whistle. “Who would have known…”

Geralt nodded, and their conversation ended there because Jaskier was speaking once again. The ale really seemed to be affecting his judgment now, it seemed, as he was flushed in the face and grinning like an idiot as he spoke (though Geralt thought he’d never looked better.) “Now I’m going to sing one of my own works!” The crowd of witchers cheered, and Jaskier bowed a little. “I know, I know, but let me preface with this: I wrote this in my head on the road today, so I hope you all can forgive me if there are any grammatical mistakes or if it’s too repetitive.”

And with that, Jaskier strummed the lute and began to sing.

“ _ I’ll undress you ‘cause you’re tired, cover you as you desire, when you fall asleep inside my arms _ ,” Jaskier sang, and Lambert grinned mischievously at his brother, Geralt.

“ _ May not have the fancy things, but I’ll give you everything you could ever want, it’s in my arms. _ ”

Geralt scowled back at Lambert as if to say the song could be about someone else, that it didn’t necessarily have to be him.

“ _ So, baby, tell me yes, and I will give you everything. So, baby, tell me yes, and I will be all yours tonight _ .”

Lambert chuckled in response before motioning for Geralt to watch Jaskier closely.

“ _ So, baby, tell me yes, and I will give you everything… _ ”

The blonde man was staring directly at him, his cornflower blue eyes staring into Geralt’s very soul and warming him to the core.

“ **_I will be right by your side!_ ** ”

Geralt felt all the air leave his lungs like some magical force was sucking it right out of him, but he knew it was just Jaskier’s gaze.

_ “If I can’t find the cure, I’ll fix you with my love! No matter what you know, I’ll fix you with my love! And if you say you’re okay, I’m gonna heal you anyway!” _

Eskel ‘aww’ed and wrapped an arm around Geralt’s shoulder, but the whitehaired witcher wasn’t paying his brother much mind at the moment, not with Jaskier looking at him with such sincerity.

“ _ Promise I’ll always be there. Promise  _ **_I’ll be the cure!_ ** ”

Jaskier broke eye contact with Geralt for just a moment and he felt like he was transported back to the present from whatever trance he had been in. He turned to Eskel to see the man smiling softly at him, no longer teasing Geralt but instead offering him support. He understood.

“ _ Rub your feet, your hands, your legs. Let me take care of you, babe. Close your eyes, I’ll sing your favorite song, _ ” Jaskier continued and Geralt couldn’t help but imagine the man helping him wash selkiemore guts out his hair in the bath, then rubbing chamomile oil into his aching muscles. It was so domestic, so blissful…

“ _ I wrote you this lullaby; hush now, baby, don’t you cry.  _ **_Anything you want could not be wrong…_ ** ”

But it could be wrong, and it was. Geralt should not want him,  _ could _ not want him. Jaskier was a prince, for gods’ sakes! And he’d never so much as seen a selkiemore on paper, let alone gone against one on the road, or had to clean a witcher up after a fight against it. Geralt had already almost lost him to a leshy while traveling to the inn. What could he offer Jaskier, really? Nothing but pain, suffering, and a lifetime of being an outcast, just for loving a witcher… it wasn’t fair to the man. He couldn’t do that to such a kind, loving soul.

So, while Jaskier sang the rest of the song, Geralt asked Devis for his room key. Devis claimed that he and Jaskier would have to share a bed for the length of their stay, but Geralt was alright with that. He planned to be asleep, and to pretend he was not woken up by Jaskier’s entrance, by the time Lambert helped the inebriated bard up the stairs and into his room.

Geralt did not catch the sad turn Jaskier’s eyes had taken once he left, nor did he notice the death glare his daughter was sending his way. She knew about his self-sabotaging nature already, it seemed, and she was not allowing it to drag Jaskier down, too. He’d done nothing wrong, after all! Why were grown-ups so stupid?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering about the name of the song Jaskier sings onstage, it's called "The Cure" and it's by Lady Gaga. It's one of my favorites and it fits way too well in this AU so Lauryn and I decided it had to be added in XD

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving kudos and/or, even better, a comment! I would love to hear what you all thought and if you have any guesses as to how things will progress XD
> 
> If you want to follow my chaotic shenanigans, make sure to check out my tumblr: https://dambit-like-gambit.tumblr.com/


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